


Eric the Potplant

by cupiscent



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-28
Updated: 2003-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupiscent/pseuds/cupiscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not about changing your life, it's about you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halfway There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes to New Zealand.

Whoa; we're halfway there.  
Livin' on a prayer.  
\- Bon Jovi

*

There are some experiences you know, before you begin, are going to change your life.

I had no such premonition about New Zealand.

I blithely left Australia with two suitcases, a box of music and books, and a potplant. My father, who perhaps knows me better than I know myself, was puzzled by that plant. He poked at it, got his finger dirty in the damp loam inside the terracotta pot. Told me the change in climate, Brisbane to Auckland, would make the plant wilt.

"He's a survivor," I argued, batting his hand away. "Like me."

"He?" Dad raised an eyebrow.

"I like to call him Eric." My botanical recognition factor approaches zero; I could pick a jacaranda, as long as it was in flower, and I remembered bouganvillia from painful childhood memories of their thorns. Apart from that, I was no good with green things, so I didn't know what sort of plant I owned. Eric the potplant had big, glossy, deep green leaves. I stroked one.

Dad laughed. "The other man in your life?"

I dropped a kiss on his bald spot. "_You're_ the other man in my life."

We didn't talk about the primary man in my life. Not because it was painful; the first sharp stab had spread and dulled to a vague ache. It was just that it was all over, done with. There was nothing more to say about it that hadn't been said a dozen times already. Neither my father nor I waste words.

"Well," he said, putting me in a taxi for the airport with a hug, "take care of yourself. Bring me back one of those scarves all the students wear."

Eric survived the trip with fewer effects than me. I set him on the windowsill of my new kitchen with a smug smile. I knew he'd be fine. Like I told Dad, he was a survivor. He'd lived through the almost aggressive inattention we'd both been victim to in our previous situation. He blocked half the kitchen window, but I didn't need to see out, just needed to see him. He was strong and hardy. It was a little loopy to have a potplant as a role model, but there are weirder ideas in daily rotation in the US. Maybe I'd been there for too long.

I watered Eric. I watered myself, enjoying the long, hot shower after the plane trip. I didn't bother unpacking beyond the minimum, and went straight to bed.

The assistant who came to get me next morning was very reasonable. She held off until ten, and I was up, dressed and halfway through a cup of coffee when she knocked. I only squinted a little in the sunlight when I opened the door.

"Kelly," she introduced herself, not unacceptably bubbly, but cheerful.

"Miranda," I replied, though presumably she knew that. "Come in," I said through a yawn, and led the way back down the hall. "You here to lead the lamb to slaughter?" I called back over my shoulder.

She laughed, closing the door behind her. "Nothing like that. Just some meetings. No hurry; whenever you're ready."

Very civilised. I'd enjoy it while it lasted. All too soon the sanity-breaking schedules would begin.

I finished my coffee, tied my hair back and found my sunglasses. Kelly drove a bright red Kia with a nodding dog on the dashboard. She had the windows down and the radio tuned to some sort of classic hits station. Even though she was probably ten years younger than me, we both sang along to "Livin' on a Prayer" at the top of our lungs. There's nothing like bonding over Bon Jovi.

We cruised into the converted warehouse that served as a studio in a barrage of cheerful greetings and introductions to people I promised to remember, and then promptly forgot five minutes later. I was close to drowning in the newness when someone shouted my name.

"Randy!"

I'd recognise that voice anywhere. Half the world wouldn't, because he's hidden it behind so many accents in his time. "Hugo!" I replied, turning around. He was striding down the corridor towards me, and I met him halfway in a hug. "I'd almost forgotten you were working on this monster too."

"Father of the other gorgeous young woman, this time," he noted with his usual explosive grin.

"Does that mean we can actually do it this time?" I asked, wide-eyed.

He laughed. "I don't think an Elrond/Eowyn romance is on the cards."

"No vision."

"It's shameful." He agreed blithely. "How have you been, anyway? I've barely heard from you since _True Love and Chaos_."

I shrugged. "Busy. You know how it is. You've been even busier than me. Going places. Dad's dead jealous, you know. Mutters about time and place, and young upstarts."

Hugo laughed again. "I'll send him an autographed photo."

"He'll burn it in effigy."

Kelly interrupted our laughter this time. "Sorry, Hugo, but I've got to get her going."

"Of course. We'll catch up later. Too bad you missed Cate, but you've met Dave Wenham before, right?"

It's a small industry. "Once or twice."

"You'll like him. Complete wanker. All right, stop glaring at me, Kel."

He sent me on my way with a peck on the cheek, and Kelly led me further on into the building. The place was basic, rudimentary, bare brick and concrete, except for anything to do with the filming, which was incongruously hi-tech. Kelly showed me into a room that could have been a police interrogation cell, but for the complex viewing equipment.

"Pete wanted you to see some of what we've got already," she said, sitting me down. "Just so you can get an idea of characters before you meet people."

I nodded, shifting on my less-than-comfortable chair as she started the film.

And then I forgot all about my surroundings.

That was when I knew I was involved in something spectacular. I'd had inklings before, but you learns to dismiss those little stomach tremours that say this is the big one. Usually, it all comes to nothing, or it flops altogether, and you have to just put your head down and soldier on. But as soon as those images filled the screen, I was entranced, and I knew that this _was_ the big one.

Kelly was talking. "So this is Frodo and Sam... and that's Merry and Pippin; our hobbits. You've read the book, right?"

"Of course," I answered absently, my attention all on the screen.

"You'll be working a bit with Merry." We watched for a moment, then there were a few harsh edges of film changing, and a different sequence. "This is the elves." And they were perfect. I'd only read the books through the once, and then with a critical eye for characterisation and mood, but these snippets of film, unpolished and unedited, were transporting me. A world I had analysed my way through was aesthetically and emotively coming to life. I was surprised. I was energised. I was going to be working on this.

The tour wasn't finished yet. "This is... ah, some of the early stuff from the Helm's Deep sequences." These were very rough, untrimmed and with patchy sound. But the magic was still there. "That's Eomer," Kelly pointed out, and _my brother_, my brain supplied. I could already feel a hint of Eowyn's fierce pride and love for him. "And that's Gandalf. The White, at this point. Legolas and Gimli, of course. And that's Aragorn."

That was the first glimpse. Enough to pique my interest, because I knew who he was, what he was to the character I was to play.

The film changed again. "The Council of Elrond," Kelly announced. "The whole Fellowship."

And they might have all been there, but only one drew and held my attention. Restrained, determined, full of an intriguing muddle of confidence and doubt.

"Well," I murmured, as the screen lost its light, "this is going to be fun."

Kelly was grinning when I turned to look at her. "Fucking gorgeous, isn't he?"

I laughed and stood, stretching. "I didn't really understand Eowyn's crush, in the book," I admitted. "But some things are starting to make sense."

Kelly laughed as well, checking her watch. "Well, Pete should be here soon, providing he could break when he wanted to. He'll just want to welcome you, talk about your schedule."

Here it comes. "When do I start?"

The voice that answered was new, and male, New-Zealand accented and coming from the door behind me. "Sword and horse training start as soon as you're ready."

I turned and smiled at the man creating this piece of movie magic. "How about now?"

He laughed, barefoot, bearded and casual, and stepped forward to shake my hand. "How about tomorrow."

A temporary reprieve? A hint of continued civility?

I wished.

"This afternoon," he continued, "you're going to wardrobe. And then I think everyone's going for drinks at the local tonight, so you can meet them all there. Kelly'll take you."

Looks like I'd really arrived.


	2. My Kinda Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes to the pub.

And it's not my kinda scene at all...  
\- Powderfinger

*

'The local', as Pete had called it, was the sort of pub I knew well from long association. Much the same on either side of Tasman, even if I didn't recognise most of the names of the beer on tap on the other side of the long wooden bar. The place was chock-full of cast and crew, though it was hard to tell them apart from the locals, except where I recognised a face.

"We've been here for so long," Kelly told me as we made our way to the bar, "that we've become a fixture. And there're so many Kiwis on the lot that the line between the movie and the community is practically non-existent. It's great!"

We'd just got our drinks when we were hailed by a strident cry of: "Ladies!" We turned, to be faced with a lanky youth, mohawked and bursting with energy. His grin was broad. His beer was half-full, and probably not his first.

"Orlando," Kelly greeted him, and he leaned forward to hug her one-armed, exchanging extravagant air-kisses.

I needed the moment that gave me to recognise him. "Legolas, right?" It was almost impossible to draw the line between this overexcited puppy of a boy and the elf prince.

He beamed at me, and made a respectable bow, not spilling any of his beer. "At your service, fair Shieldmaiden of Rohan."

I was surprised. "You already know who I am?"

His voice had smoothed, mellowed, taking on elven poise, but when he straightened, his accent kinked again. "Of course we do. We've all been waiting for you to get here."

Kelly made the introductions. "Miranda Otto, Orlando Bloom."

We shook hands solemnly, then his grin broke out again. "Orli'll do. What do we call you - Mir?"

I shrugged, took up my beer. Nicknames never worked well with my name. "Dad used to call me Randy," I remembered.

"Don't tell him that!" Kelly cried. "He'll take advantage."

"Look, Kel," Orlando said, turning on her, and then he paused, squinted suspiciously at her, rubbing his chin. "Your skirts _are_ getting shorter," he declared, with the sound of one vindicated.

"They are not!"

I just laughed. Admittedly, Kelly's skirt wouldn't have looked out of place on a tennis court.

Kelly swatted at his head; Orlando ducked, laughing, and fended her off. "No, I'm serious, this is a new record for short. You'll have to come and show Dom. He's the final judge."

"Cushy job," I murmured, retreating into my beer with a smirk.

Kelly was not to be dissuaded, flailing at Orlando, who wrestled back, shrieking, "Harridan!" He gained control while I shared a chuckle with the bartender, who didn't seem surprised at the horseplay. I guessed he was used to it. When I looked back, Orlando had her immobilised, though her helpless laughter had a lot to do with that. "Come and meet everyone," he suggested, a little breathless himself. "Like I said, we've all been waiting for you."

"I hope I don't disappoint," I said mildly, handing Kelly's drink to her as Orlando let her go.

"No worries about that!" Another grin, over his shoulder this time as he led the way through the press.

The others were clustered around two tables pushed together. It was the noisiest corner of the pub, but not by much. When we reached the table, two young men had one foot each on the table, their jeans pushed up to their knees to display hairy shins. I recognised them, though they didn't look much like hobbits now.

"Put it away!" Orlando shouted. "No one wants to see."

"Lady on deck!" It was another hobbit this time, with a thick Scottish accent, who pushed at the others, and then stood, holding out a hand across the table. "Hello, I'm -"

Orlando swatted his hand away. "Wait yer turn." The Scot fell back into his seat as Orlando wound up for a round of introductions around the table. "Everyone, this is Miranda Otto." A faint cheer and a few claps, led by the young hobbits. "Shut up. Miranda, this is Dave, Rick and Louisa. They're from the crew, but we associated with 'em anyway." I leaned around Orlando to shake hands. "The rowdy bastards over there," who now had their legs off the table, "are Elijah, Dom and Billy." That was the Scot. I gave him a wider smile as I shook his hand. The younger boys were almost as bright-eyed as Orlando, but polite. "Hey Dom," Orlando interrupted himself, "get a load of Kelly's skirt."

Eyes widened. "Jesus Christ!" he declared. "That's a fucking short skirt."

"Bugger off," Kelly told him.

"And this," Orlando said, gesturing to the person sitting just beside me, "is Sean Astin. We've got two Seans, it's very confusing, but this one claims to be a respectable married man. Don't trust either of the dodgy sods, is my advice." I shook his hand, and took the seat he offered next to him. Kelly took one on his other side, and Orlando slid in next to me.

"So what does Bean claim to be?" Elijah was asking.

"Thoroughly _un_respectable," Rick declared. "In every way."

"And loving it," Dom agreed.

"He's playing Boromir, right?" I _had_ read the information about the film already. I just needed some reminding now and then.

"Yep." Elijah, child-star but with a grin as friendly and unaffected as anyone else around the table. Still, he laughed with the innate confidence of someone who knows just how gorgeous he is. "He's about as filthy as the humans come." That brought laughter around the table - some in-joke I didn't quite understand.

"Will he be along tonight?" I asked with a grin. "I'm starting to feel out-numbered by the other races."

"Bean not come to the pub?" Dom grinned back, pure cheeky. "Not likely. He'll be here. Especially since he's basically finished filming now. He and Vig said they'd be late."

Another one I wanted to meet, but before I could pursue it any further, a melodic American accent behind me said: "Are these boys bothering you?"

I turned with a welcoming smile. "Liv, hi!" We'd met that afternoon, in the amazing rooms of the wardrobe designers. I was swathed in dark shades of velvet, brocades and heavy laces. She'd breezed in to be draped in her light, delicate elven robes. We'd both agreed that the experience of being transformed into something other was an amazing feeling. Like playing dress-up for big kids.

Now, she stepped up behind me, one hand on my shoulder, and surveyed the table. "Fuck, you've got the worst of them here."

The boys made cheerfully rude gestures at her, and she blew them a kiss.

"Where's your drink?" Dom demanded, gesturing with his own.

"I'm not staying," she replied.

"Not staying?" The banter passed from Dom to Billy with the ease of long practice. "How are we supposed to get you drunk and take advantage of your vulnerable state if you won't drink?"

"Shut up, you lot," Rick stated gruffly, but Liv just laughed.

"So what'd you come for?" Sean asked, and I was surprised anew at how broad his American accent was. He grinned up at Liv. "Don't you think we'll take good care of Miranda?"

"I don't trust you," Liv said sweetly, leaning over me to tap one finger on Sean's nose.

"Wise woman," one of the crew muttered, while Sean looked extravagantly hurt.

"Dodgy sods, I tell you," Orlando declared, and nodded sagely before draining his beer. "Who's for another? Mir, drink up; you're behind."

Things continued in that vein, and I relaxed into it. Liv left, but a couple more of the crew arrived. A night out with entertaining people was a rare treat, and the banter here was quick and lively, even if I didn't understand most of the in-jokes. The one time Elijah started explaining one reference to me - something about dolphins, I still don't quite get it - the others kept interrupting, leading him off on tangents until the entire thing devolved into an inexplicable round of 'did not, did too' between Sean and Dom. Kelly occasionally tried to fill in the blanks, but there were too many, and I told her not to bother. Soon I'd be a part of it. I was actually looking forward to it.

And so it went for another round, which is the only acceptable way for time to be measured in a pub. I was feeling quite happily buzzed on beer and laughter when Orlando leaned over and said: "Still feeling outnumbered?"

"Not at all," I answered gaily, turning to look at him.

"That's unfortunate," he commented lightly, and I followed his significant gaze sideways, to where two men were edging their way through the press towards our table. "Because the Men are showing up."

Considering how different everyone else had looked, I was mildly surprised at how easy it was to recognise these two. "They're certainly men," I agreed.

"They're _the_ Men," Orlando declared, grinning up with renewed energy at the new arrivals.

"And don't you forget it." OK, the voice was different. More American, less precise enunciation. It poured into the gaps in your brain. Hmm, maybe I was tipsier than I thought. I looked up, and received two smiles guaranteed to turn a girl's head.

I offered a hand, and a smile of my own. "Miranda Otto."

"Viggo Mortensen." Callused hand, and his shirt loose at the wrists.

"Sean Bean." Similarly rough hand, edging around Viggo to shake mine.

"I know," I told them. "I recognised you both."

Sean grinned, and nudged Viggo. "Our fame precedes us."

"It's the smell!" Orlando cried, sliding out of his seat, empty glass in hand. A few good-natured and well-practiced insults flew back and forth, and Orlando escaped off to the bar.

Sean went to sit up near the head of the table; Viggo stole Orlando's seat next to me. "You looking after her?" he asked Kelly.

Kelly just laughed. "She doesn't need looking after." And she went back to her conversation with Louisa.

He turned to me with a smile. "Overwhelmed yet?"

I laughed. "Close! But not quite. I haven't really started anything yet, but I feel like I've been here for a week already."

"Welcome to the Peter Jackson Circus," he said with mock significance. "Changes your life forever."

I glanced around the table. Astin and two of the crew seemed to be arguing swordplay, with demonstrative gestures, while the rest of the hobbits were playing one of those complicated drinking games that requires thumbs on the table and other oddities. There was a lot of noise, and much laughter. "Well, there are worse concepts."

Viggo followed my gaze, and his smile was warm, fond and comfortable. "There are," he agreed.

Kelly and I left not long afterwards, and my house seemed abnormally quiet after the noise of the pub. One of those Powderfinger songs that sounds like all the other Powderfinger songs had been playing on Kelly's radio, and I found myself humming it as I watered Eric. There were people back home I should have probably called, but instead, I went to bed.


	3. With Or Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes to a World of Hurt.

I can live  
With or without you.  
\- U2

*

I collapsed on the kitchen bench, dropping my shopping bags on its granite surface. It was cool against the cheek I laid on it. There was a stick of celery prodding me in the kidney. "Ugh. I can't move."

Liv came into the kitchen behind me. "I told you not to carry the bags. Sit down already, madwoman. I'll do everything."

"I'm serious, I can't move." One of the muscles in my lower back was screaming about the position I was in, bent over my kitchen bench, but the rest of them were blessedly quiet. I knew, the moment I moved, most of my back and legs would make it known that they didn't like what they'd been asked to do in the past week.

Liv deposited her load in a rustle of plastic bags, and then her hands curled under my shoulders. "Come on."

With her help, I staggered out of the kitchen, and collapsed onto the couch. "Ow."

"What now?"

"I found the remote." It was so predictable that I was laughing even as I twisted to pull the rectangle of black plastic out from between the cushions I was lying on. I chucked it on the floor. Television was the last thing I cared about right now. "How did you survive this, Liv?"

"After the first week, you get used to it," she told me, heading back into the kitchen.

I stretched a little, and winced. I rubbed at my thigh. "I'm not sure what's worse, the horse or the sword." Horse training was giving me the sort of aches that made me swear never to whinge about period cramps ever again, but with my arms feeling like tortured jelly from hefting several feet of steel, just about any task was impossible.

Which was why Liv was in my kitchen right now, cooking me dinner. "You'll get used to it," she repeated. Her head appeared out of the doorway. "You said you had oregano?"

"Yeah; spice rack's in the little cupboard above the stove."

"Right." She paused, looking down at me. "This'll be a little bit. Why don't you go have a hot bath? You'll feel better."

I tipped one leg off the couch, and braced myself. "Great idea." With a groan, I heaved myself upright again, and grinned at her. "Don't burn the place down."

She pouted. "You spoil all my fun."

The bath was heavenly. I sank into it as into the arms of a lover. Very poetic, Miranda. Better than any lover I'd ever had. The hot water didn't try and tie my brain in knots, didn't accuse or make excuses, didn't grope me when I wasn't in the mood. It just lay there, heavy and supportive and leeching my aches and pains out of me bit by bit. I tilted my head back against the edge of the bath, and considered never moving again. Faint strains of music started; Liv had found my stereo and my U2 CD.

Eventually - quite quickly, in fact - the water started to cool, and my fingers started to prune, and I found that it wasn't as hard to climb out of the bath as it had been to climb in.

There were absolutely delicious smells wafting through the kitchen when I wandered in, tightening the belt on my dressing gown. Liv looked up from the stove with a smile. "Feel better?"

"Much." My hair was damp, but I twisted it up roughly onto my head, relishing the movement. There were faint twinges across my shoulders, but I ignored them. She started bustling about with pasta bowls and cutlery, serving up. "You're a goddess, I told you that, right?"

She smiled at me. "I'm your fairy godmother. Are you recovered enough to open the wine?"

"I'll make an attempt."

It proved harder than I thought, since my usual method was to hold the bottle opener in one hand, and the bottle itself gripped between my thighs. Trying that brought curses from me, and laughter from Liv; the next option of under my arm wasn't much better. In the end Liv swapped two full bowls of thick, tomato-ey chorizo and pasta for the still-unopened bottle, and told me to set the table.

"I'm useless!" I moaned dramatically, falling into my chair, while she poured the wine.

"Don't be stupid." Liv set down the bottle, and raised her glass. "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger," she declared.

I groaned - I'd always hated Steel Magnolias when my mother used to cry over it - but raised my own glass to hers with a ting. "Then we must be fucking Superman."

Liv screwed up her nose, but not at the wine, which was beautifully smooth and rich. "He's not my type," she said.

The pasta was just as good as the wine. "Wow."

She laughed at my expression. "You looked surprised."

I recovered quickly, sipped more of the wine. "Well, you know, Australian prejudice. We're taught that American film brats can't do anything."

"I can't do anything _else_," she agreed, laughing still. "But Dad always said everyone should have one thing they could cook. I just cook mine really well."

"You certainly do." I forced myself not to eat too quickly, shifting in my seat a little. My muscles were starting to tighten up a little, but nowhere near as bad as before.

Liv noticed my agitating. "It should all be fine from here. You usually only have one day of agony."

"Oh, joy."

She ignored my sarcasm. "But if you're still sore tomorrow, see if you can find Orli," she advised.

"To take my mind off the pain?"

She laughed. "No. The boy's a genius at back massages. He says he's had enough to be a credited professional. You know he broke his back, right?"

"Yeah." That was one of the personal details that just seemed to ooze their way through the cast and crew. You knew things about people and had no idea how you knew them, except you'd all been living in each others' pockets for too long. I was a new addition to the process, but it moved at the speed of gossip.

We ate. I topped up our wine glasses. "So, if Superman isn't your type, who does ring Liv Tyler's bell?" She started laughing, and I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. "C'mon. Billy was very interested in 'taking advantage', I seem to recall, that first night I was here."

She waved a dismissive hand. "God, no, he didn't mean it. It's just a joke."

"Oh?" I was an actress; I could do a very melodramatic 'unconvinced' with ease.

"No, see, my boyfriend and I broke up a few weeks back."

I lost the act. "Oh, Liv, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

But she just waved a hand again. "Don't worry! It's no big deal. That's the thing; the hobbits just joke about it all the time. It's, like, that's how they give me their support and let me know they're there for me and, y'know, shit like that."

Over the raised lip of my glass, I watched her. "It's no big deal?"

She thoughtfully wound her pasta around her fork. "No, it's really not. I know Roy and I aren't finished with each other. It's like... well, like there's this little 'to be continued' message. But we were really serious, and I hadn't even really noticed it happening. I just... I guess I just wanted to be single just to be me for a bit before..." She blushed a little, and chased a last piece of chorizo around her plate. "Before anything else."

Sitting in a house that wasn't quite mine with this blushing girl talking about marriage, however backwardly, I suddenly felt amazingly old. I could remember sun-soaked summers and short nights and not being tied down. These days I didn't think in terms of 'being me', just in terms of taking it as it came, the drawbacks to being single (far less sex, no man around to open the difficult jars) versus the drawbacks of being in a relationship (emotional uncertainty, having to plan your life around someone else).

I told myself it was just my body making me feel aged, and I drained my wine.

While we did the washing up, we drank the rest of the wine. Half a bottle each made us tipsy enough for Liv to drape the tea-towel over her head and walk like an Egyptian. I giggled and splashed water at her; she flicked me with the towel.

There wasn't a lot of washing up, and I'd miscalculated on the liquid, so I had bubbles up to my elbows. So much for gloves. As I messed about, Liv said: "I'm really glad you're here, Mir."

"Hmm?"

She was blushing a little, or maybe it was just the wine. "Don't get me wrong, the guys are great. Lots of fun, and really great friends, and there're lots of really nice girls in the crew, but…"

I scrubbed at the bottom of the pan. "But it's nice to have someone in exactly the same position?"

"Yeah!" she agreed brightly. After a long moment's thoughtful pause, though, she started rambling. "Except, of course, we're not the same because we're totally different people and, like, you're Australian and pronounce things weird. Like depot."

I was almost finished. I drained my glass, wine stain inside, suds outside. "Liv, finish your wine."

"I have," she replied, but her voice sounded odd, and when I looked, she was balancing the empty glass on her forehead, head tilted back.

Fortunately, when we both collapsed laughing, she caught the glass.

I made coffee after that. There was a block of dark chocolate with almonds in the cupboard for emergencies; we declared this was one, and ate half the block, dipping it in the coffee to half-melt, and getting it all over our fingers.

"Do you miss Roy?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, in a voice that had 'Well, duh' written all over it. "Of course, y'know. You miss your boyfriend. Even when he's not your boyfriend anymore."

"That's the thing," I philosophised, leaning against the sink and talking mostly to Eric, oblivious in his pot. "Do you miss Roy, or do you miss your boyfriend?"

Neither Eric nor Liv seemed much impressed. She squinted at me. "Huh?"

I shook my head, and turned away from the unresponsive potplant. "Never mind."

She stretched, and started to gather herself. "Time I went, I think. Before I fall asleep on your kitchen counter."

I walked her to the door, but she forebade me to go out into the cold. I contented myself with thanking her profusely from the doorstep. "Thanks so much, Liv. For dinner and all of it. I wouldn't have survived without you."

She grinned, so bright and sunny it was impossible not to grin back. "No problem. You'll feel so much better tomorrow, I promise."

 

Tomorrow - barely tomorrow, still really last night, as far as I was concerned - the phone rang.

I half-scrambled out of bed, and fell on the phone. "H'lo?"

"Mir! How are you feeling?" Male. Accented. Far too fucking cheerful.

I cleared my throat and tried to open my eyes. What _time_ was it? "I'm not in my body," I croaked.

"Lazy bint," the caller abused me, and resolved into a recognisable voice. "C'mon, they're going to want me for feet in a minute."

"Dom -"

"How d'ya _feel_?"

My body coalesced around me, surprisingly pain-free. "Uh, OK, actually. It seems to be going."

"We'll make a warrior of you yet!" he crowed.

I prized my eyes open, and found the clock. "Dom, it's fucking 5am. I hate you."

He laughed. "Now you're really one of us!"

In the silence after he hung up, I decided he was probably right. But I was still going to kill him.


	4. Where I always wanted to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes sight-seeing with the boys.

I'm right where I always wanted to be,  
I can't change.  
\- Veruca Salt

*

"Ow fuck!"

I flowed back into ready stance. Sweat stuck my hair to my forehead, and my opponent backed up, holding his sword one-handed as he shook the fingers of his right hand and grimaced. Exultation surged, invigorating and hot on my tongue.

Then I blinked. "Shit, Dave, I'm sorry -"

But we weren't alone, of course. You were never alone once you'd got involved in the Lord of the Rings. "No! Focus!" That was the trainer, striding around us, voice sharp as steel. "Again."

There were other voices, too. Other people, further away. Whistling and clapping and raucous shouts. "Got your ass kicked by a _girl_!" That was Elijah, jeering, recognisable from the voice and accent. I snuck a peek from the corner of my eye as Dave squared up again. A small knot of half-costumed, half-normal cast and crew had gathered to watch. Shooting must have finished for the day.

"Come on, sis!" That was Karl, I realised with a laugh. "Show 'em how we do it in Rohan!"

"Fuck Rohan!" And that was Bean, though now I had to concentrate, because Dave was edging forwards again, focussed, not hearing the exhortation: "You're fighting for Gondor, little brother!"

We closed. I tuned the crowd out. Blades met; I stepped back, he stepped forward. Feint, parry, thrust, recover. Concentrate on the blade, an extension of my arms, my will. Narrow the focus. Feel it. Be it.

This was when I could feel Eowyn, when I knew her, even though I was wearing sweats and a sports singlet, not to mention all the practice padding, my own hair dragged into a messy knot. Sheildmaiden of Rohan, forged straight and true, cold and sharp but singing her own song.

Dave won, of course. Stronger, faster - male - for all that we were at similar places in our training. He jabbed me in the ribs, the blow still smarting despite the padding and my own evasive maneouvres. Which only served to land me on my arse, anyway.

I lay on my back on the grass, laughing. The sky was beautiful; it was darkening, the sun was starting to slide towards the horizon. There were thundering footsteps, as the crowd stopped hanging back and started to get involved. The trainer, leaning over me to tell me I'd done a good job, was elbowed aside by Karl.

"Now what'd you go and do that for?" he demanded.

"Sorry, have I ruined Rohan's reputation?" He was upside down from where I was lying, and it was hard to take the conversation seriously.

Karl seemed to have no such problem. "Not only that, but you made me lose twenty bucks."

I held up a hand, and he helped me to my feet. "You put money on me? I'm touched."

"Well, family, you know," he offered with a grin.

I offloaded my sword to the trainer, and Karl started helping me out of the padding. Dave, already unpadded, romped up arm-in-arm with Bean and Viggo. "The Sons of Gondor are victorious!" Sean gloated.

Dave leered ostentatiously in my direction. "Need help there?"

I batted his hand away, laughing, and Karl growled. "Keep yer hands off my sister."

"His intentions are entirely honourable," Viggo objected, half-distracted. He squinted off to the setting sun. "Did you ask her yet?"

"Ask her what?" I asked, twisting to look at Karl over my shoulder.

"There's this gorge a little way that way." He gestured with a vague hand, and finished unlacing my padding. I turned to face him as I shrugged out of it. "It's a beautiful spot, not all touristy. I thought you might like to see it while there's still some light. Before you start filming. Oh yeah, and these two lugs want to come along."

"Hey, this lug doesn't care," Bean interjected. "It's the other one. The one with the burning artistic desires."

"Leave my desires out of it," Viggo returned, with the easy lack of thought of regular banter.

"I," Dave declared, pulling his arms from around the shoulders of the other two, "have merely mediocre, mundane desires. I'm off home."

I bundled the last of the padding up, and passed it off to an assistant. "Don't suppose I have time to shower, change and have a cup of coffee?"

"We'll lose the light." As Viggo shifted, his camera swung on his shoulder. Ah, yes; burning artistic desires.

I sighed, but grinned as I pulled the elastic out of my hair, combing out the limp, sweaty tendrils with my fingers. "OK. But I call shotgun."

Karl drove a Celica with character and only two doors. Getting Bean and Viggo into the back seat was an adventure. When he started the car, there was Veruca Salt on the radio, but he turned it off. We drove with the windows down and the wind was cool on the sweat still dampening my hair.

"You don't attack," Viggo said suddenly, as Karl skirted civilisation on back roads.

"What?" All three of us answered, and then laughed.

"Miranda. Doesn't attack enough with her sword."

"Don't give her tips," Sean butted in. "She might beat him next time."

"She's going to be your sister-in-law."

"Exactly!"

I smiled, looked out the window at the scenery flowing by. Karl glanced in the rearvision mirror to his backseat passengers. "What do you mean, she doesn't attack? Looked like it to me."

Viggo was sitting behind me, which gave an eerie quality to his voice, already quiet enough that with the wind buffetting the car, it was hard to hear. "She goes through the motions, but she doesn't really engage."

When I tried to look back over my shoulder to see him, the wind blew my hair in my face.

"Too deep for me," Karl commented.

"Whaddya expect, horse boy?"

"You wanna walk, Sod of Gondor?"

I laughed, and relaxed into the banter. "Now, kids, don't make me turn this car around and go back to the Shire."

Viggo bought in as well. "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Almost," Karl answered, slowing down slightly and leaning forward. "The turn should be up here somewhere. I almost always miss it. Ah!"

The road was dirt, little more than a track, but we didn't have far to go down it before it opened into a little dirt carpark. Karl's car was the only one there, and the dust settled as we piled out of the car, the men contorting long limbs to climb out of the back seat.

"I am not getting back in there," Viggo murmured, stretching.

I grinned, closed the car door. "You and Bean can thumbwrestle for the front seat on the way back."

A short path led down to the edge of the gorge, a breath-taking vista across to the other side, the sun gilding the tops of the trees and leaving the depths to purple dusk. The path continued its wending way down into the gorge, barely there.

"No one get lost or fall in," Karl ordered. "Or I'll have to emigrate to avoid Pete's wrath."

"Yes sir," I answered with a smile, but Viggo was already wandering off along the gorge's edge, Bean trailing in his wake.

I took the path down, walking slowly and losing myself in the quiet. Temperate rainforest clung to the edges of the gorge, and there were trickles of water here and there. There were similar patches back home, in the less-travelled parts of south-east Queensland, tucked into the Glasshouse Mountains where my father used to take me before it became all alternative-folk chic and I grew too old and busy for wandering through forests hushed with bird-call.

A short way down, I found a rock outcropping that stuck up, catching the last rays of the sun. The climb up to the top was fairly easy, and I sat there, eyes shut red-lidded against the sun and my knees tucked to my chest. The sun was warm, but there was a cool breeze blowing, and it prickled my skin.

The click-whir of a camera alerted me, and I looked back and down. Viggo was looking down at his camera, then tilted his head up to me. "I don't think it'll work out. Sun's behind you and this camera can't cope with it. But I had to try."

I slithered around to face him more, sun behind me and my shadow cast long on the ground next to him. "What do you do with the ones that don't work out?"

"Use them for other things." His attention was back on the camera, winding this, fiddling with that. "Everything has merit. Everything's art. Everything's memory."

"I don't use my camera any more," I told him.

He looked up. "Why not?"

"When I was about eight, we went on this fantastic holiday in north Queensland. There was a beach that I always remember as being the most perfect beach in the world. White sand, blue water, palm trees, went for miles and it was just... yeah, perfect." I shrugged. "When I was about sixteen I found the photos of that holiday and the beach was nothing like I remembered it. It was mundane. Boring. I prefer the memories. I don't care how it really was."

"Photos make their own memories. Tell their own stories. It's misuse to try and force your memories into the lens." He clipped his camera back into its case, and grinned up at me, squinting in the sun. "But I know what you mean."

I shifted to the edge, started looking at how to get down. "Where are Sean and Karl?"

"Arguing directions back up the top. Does the gorge go north or west, and all that."

He offered me a hand as a started to climb down, but I waved it away. "I'm right, thanks. Sean's arguing with a native?"

"Better than that," Viggo noted, as I dropped down beside him. "Sean's arguing while the sun blatantly sets." I laughed. "He can be a stubborn bastard sometimes."

"Hmm." We started to walk back up the path. There was something in Viggo's voice. "When does he leave?"

"Sunday."

"You're going to miss him, aren't you?"

He grinned at me, not at all the reaction I was expecting. "Of course. We've made a great friendship." It took me by surprise. I was looking at him as we rounded the last corner and he looked up, his grin widening and voice rising. "And, of course, once he's gone I have to deal with the hobbits alone."

Bean turned from his pointing to laugh at that. "I told you, mate. Package 'em up and ship 'em to me."

The sun was almost gone now, and the wind was picking up. I tucked my hair behind my ears, and crossed my arms over my chest. I really wished there'd been time for me to change. "This really was beautiful, Karl. Thanks for bringing me."

"No problem." He looked suspiciously at me. "Are you cold?"

I shrugged. "A little. Not much."

Apparently I wasn't convincing. "Here." Bean was shrugging out of his jacket.

"No, I couldn't. I'm all sweaty and -"

"Take it," he insisted, draping it over my shoulders with a grin. I wasn't going to wait to be told twice. I threaded my arms through the sleeves as he continued: "I fear the wrath of Pete as well. If Eowyn came down with the flu, I don't think even England would be far enough away."

"If Viggo's sated those burning artistic desires," Karl noted, "we might as well go, anyway."

"He has," Viggo replied, slinging his camera back over his shoulder on its strap. "And what's more, he calls shotgun."

"Bastard!" Bean swore. Viggo just smiled beatifically at him.


	5. Looking for something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda doesn't go looking for something, but maybe finds it.

Travelled the world and the seven seas;  
Everybody's looking for something.  
\- Eurythmics

*

"He's groping me again!"

"Come on, sis," Karl purred melodramatically in my ear, loud enough to carry. "Incest's a game the whole family can play."

A smatter of laughter, but at the end of a long day, the actors were getting sillier and the crew was getting less tolerant. Pete didn't even look up from his conference.

Karl sagged over my shoulder, chin digging in. "You're heavy," I grumbled.

"Support me, woman," he shot back, but his heart wasn't really in it. I couldn't blame him. It really had been a long day, and I still wasn't sure if Pete had finished the scene to his liking. We'd done it six different ways, it seemed, and he wasn't happy with any of them.

And it was only my first day, so I was nowhere near settling into the rhythm of filming. I was drained, aching, and very happy when Pete disbanded his meeting and declared: "Fine, we're done. Everyone can piss off."

"My pleasure," I muttered, sliding out from under Karl as he straightened with a faint grunt.

We walked slowly towards make-up. Karl stretched. "I gotta get a personal masseuse," he muttered.

"Apparently Orli's very good."

"Yeah, but you have to put up with the rest of him to get the hands."

I laughed. "Yeah, well. I've gotta stop playing nineteen year olds. It's becoming harder to remember how it feels to be that young and full of everything."

"Poor old woman." He grinned, tugged at my wig.

I tugged back at his. "Who's complaining of arthritis?"

His eyes widened with mock-affront, and he raised a hand: "Listen, _wench_..."

But I'd seen someone. "Sorry, Karl, I have to talk to Bean."

"You don't get away that easy!" he called, but I was already walking away. I grinned back over my shoulder, but didn't stop. Viggo and Bean were walking away from me as it was, and if I stopped to finish bandying words with Karl, I'd never catch them up.

As it was, I had to jog a little, and call out: "Sean! Hey Sean!"

It took a moment, but then his head raised, and he glanced over his shoulder. Viggo paused a little further on, looking back. They chatted quietly to each other as I jogged up, barely out of breath. Training was good for something after all. I had my snappy line all ready and waiting, but it flew out of my head as Sean turned to face me.

"Holy crap!" I burst out, and then clapped a hand over my mouth.

Viggo was laughing silently behind Bean, who was trying to look innocent, and failing. "What?" he asked mildly.

"You shaved it all off," I said, muffled by my hand.

Sean rubbed at his smooth chin, and grinned. "Yeah, well."

I couldn't help extending my hand to drag my fingers down his cheek. Along his jaw, where the beard had been, his skin was slightly less tanned than the rest of his face. "Jesus," I breathed.

"No, he _had_ a beard," Viggo murmured, and Sean's cheek bunched into a grin under my hand.

"Anyway," he said, as I prised my fingers away from his chin, "I assume you didn't chase us down just to fondle my face."

"Yeah, well, I thought you were going to ignore me for a minute there," I said with a smile.

He smiled back. "Not used to women calling my name."

"I would've thought it happened all the time," I returned.

Viggo burst out laughing, and Sean grinned. "Not used to being called Sean," he clarified. "I've been here too long, being Bean."

I met Viggo's eyes over Sean's shoulder; he was laughing and shaking his head. "I'm not commenting on your sex life or anything to do with length," I said, and was rewarded as Viggo threw his head back to laugh harder, and Sean chuckled.

"I see your reason now; you felt the desperate need to insult me," he said, still grinning. "Miranda, I'm touched that you'd go out of your way for me like that."

"Actually," I told him bluntly, "I still have your jacket."

"Oh." As we got to business, Sean's face cleared a little. He turned to Viggo. "I should go and -"

Viggo waved a hand. "Get it. I'll go via props and meet you -"

"In the carpark. Sure thing." And then Viggo was striding off, and Sean was standing beside me, looking expectant.

"Do you two share a brain or something?" I grumbled, turning away.

Sean fell into step beside me. "Sure," he said cheerfully. "He got all the artistic stuff and I got what's left."

I laughed. "I'm sure that's not true." Sean cocked his head at me, and I smiled winsomely. "I'm sure Viggo has _some_ brain that isn't artistic."

He laughed. I watched the unfamiliar play of muscle and skin along his jaw.

My trailer was quiet, the jacket still on the chair I'd thrown it over that morning. I'd brought it along assuming I'd see him at some stage today, even though he was finished filming. I picked it up now, presented it with a flourish to him as he took a few steps inside the trailer. "I didn't clean it or anything." It still smelled of him, and faintly of me.

"Ugh," he said, screwing up his nose, but taking the jacket readily enough. "Girl germs."

"You've been spending too much time with Elijah." We laughed, and I shook my head. "I just can't get over your face."

He mock-leered. "Sweet of you to say."

I swatted his arm, protected by the jacket slung over it. "You know what I mean. It's unbelievable. Completely changes your look."

"Comes as a bit of a shock in the mirror," he admitted, rubbing his chin again. It had the look of a nervous habit in the making.

"Why'd you do it?" I asked, watching fingers on cheek.

He dropped his hand, held the jacket in both hands. "Symbolic, you know. It's all finished, for me. Make a break, really tell myself it's over. Boromir's all gone."

I nodded, leaning against the chair. "So, when are you off again?"

"Sunday."

"Hope you're getting pissed Saturday night, then," I said with a grin.

"Friday night." He grinned back. "No flying with a hangover for me."

"Unadventurous," I teased.

"Sensible," he corrected. Juggled the jacket, and finally slung it over his shoulder. "You're coming on Friday night, right?"

I'd already heard all about it, talked with Viggo about the farewell present, chipped in, signed the card. "I might," I said. "If you come and pick me up."

His eyebrows rose, and there was a new element in his grin. "As milady commands." He made a passable bow, and caught the jacket as it slid off his shoulder. We laughed together. "Well," he said, "I'd better let you go get de-Eowyned."

I tugged at my wig. "The hair's driving me nuts."

"Shave it all off," he suggested quickly.

I laughed; he left.

When I got home that day, the message light on the machine was blinking. I flicked through them as I pottered about, discarding shoes, rummaging through the fridge for something edible for dinner, humming happily. My agent - "Hi Mir, just touching base, hope everything's fabulous down there, thought you should know..." - Kelly - "Hey Miranda, just an update to your schedule..." - and finally, my father.

"Hi there, little one. Haven't heard from you in a bit, but I know how hectic the start of projects can be. Drop us a line sometime soon, if you could, just to say hi."

I was reaching for the phone to call him back, but the message wasn't done.

"Uh -" and my hand froze on the receiver; my father was never lost for words. "Paul dropped around today." Paul, Paul, Paul. Bright eyes, ready grin Paul. This is for the best, it's time for us to break up Paul.

I realised I'd missed the rest of message, and hit rewind.

"...just to say hi. Uh, Paul dropped around today. He had some mail for you, so I've forwarded that, but it might be easier if he forwarded it himself. And he sounded like he might like to talk to you, Randy. Give it a thought, eh? Love you."

Rewind. "...sounded like he might like to talk to you, Randy..."

I stared at the machine for a minute, and then hit the stop button. When I turned around to face the kitchen, Eric was sitting there on the window ledge, looking at me. As much as a potplant can look at you. Maybe I was coming unhinged.

"I need a drink," I told him.

He didn't say anything. I hadn't really expected him to. There were the last two of a Coopers' Pale Ale sixpack left in the fridge. They were good enough for me.

I snooze-alarmed my way to sleeping in the next morning, and had to rush through breakfast to get to make-up on time. No time for anything as I rushed out the door.

When I arrived on the set in Eowyn-garb, Sean was lurking on the fringes, talking football with two of the crew. I took a detour, tapped him on the arm.

"Hey, g'morning, Miranda."

I smiled at him, stepped closer as one of the Weta boys slid past. "We never decided what time you'd pick me up."

"Oh, for the drinks." He shrugged. "Don't know if there's an official time. I thought I'd head in around seven-ish."

"It's a date," I said with a wink. He laughed; I left.


	6. Above This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes on the prowl, and gets caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nod to Gloria for certain vague themes that never get explored. More of a recognition of a fellow sufferer than anything else. There is life after Miranda, I promise.

And you're crazy  
For thinking I'm above this.  
\- Plumb

*

Friday rolled around, and Pete gave us a half-holiday. "Go home," he said, and there were cheers. "Get ready for tonight. I'll see you all down the pub to send Sean off in style."

Viggo looked a little surprised, but shrugged and stretched. "I'm not complaining."

"Me neither," I agreed. "A girl needs time to look her best."

I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and he raised his eyebrows. "Dressing up for anyone in particular?" he asked, but I just laughed, and headed for make-up.

Back home, I checked the clock and called Dad, left a message on his machine: "Hey, I'm fine, busy with filming. Everything's great. Love you."

I stuck a CD in the stereo, one I'd rescued from Elijah's tender mercies. ("Ugh," he'd declared, hitting eject. "It's total chick music.") I had no idea about music, but it was peppy and slightly angry, and good enough for wiggling around the house getting ready for a big night out.

I showered, and blew my hair dry in the kitchen, singing along without knowing half the words, using the hairdryer as a microphone. Eric was my only audience, and he didn't care if I made a fool of myself. I painted my fingernails and, on a whim, my toenails as well. It would all have to come off before filming on Monday - I laughed at the idea of Eowyn with a beautiful burgundy manicure - but hell, it was a special occasion.

With the same thought in mind, I rummaged through my lingerie drawer. Why had I brought my garter belt to New Zealand, after all, if not for nights like this? The rest followed more or less naturally from there. If garter belt, then lace-topped stockings, rolled slowly up my legs. And then the skirt with the split to infinity, to show an almost risque hint of lace.

I giggled in the mirror, and then laughed at myself.

To complete the ensemble, the little, slinky silver top with the neckline that draped and gaped, daringly bare at the back. I hadn't been sure I would ever be able to wear it. But Eowyn was young, full of vigour. She could pull off anything.

I was in the bathroom, twisting my hair up at the back of my head, when I heard a car pull up outside. The engine stopped as I skewered my hair with pins, and a car door closed. Footsteps up the stairs, a knock at the door; I dabbed perfume at neck and wrist, and smirked in the mirror.

"He's history," I promised myself, and then raised my voice to call out: "Coming!"

Quick dash through the kitchen to snatch up my bag, blow a kiss to Eric, and out into the hall. I pulled the door open.

Viggo was standing on my front verandah, hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring up the street. He turned to look at me, and I knew I hadn't kept the shock off my face.

"Viggo! What happened to Sean?"

"He got hi-jacked by hobbits." He looked me up and down. "You look nice. Dressing up for anyone in particular?" he repeated.

I folded my arms across my chest. "No."

He shrugged and turned away. "We'd better go, or we'll be late."

I followed him to the car, sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window as we went. Viggo didn't say anything, so neither did I. There was silence until he stopped the car, parked on the street a block from the pub. When the engine stopped, the quiet seemed louder.

"Miranda," he began, taking the keys out of the ignition.

I looked at him. He was looking at me. "Was Sean really hi-jacked by the boys?"

"Yes."

"But?"

"But they were acting on my suggestion," he admitted.

My teeth were clenched; I had to prise them apart to let words out. "What are you, his guardian?"

"No -"

"He's a grown man."

"I agree." Viggo's voice was so quiet, so insistent, that it became hard to just talk over the top of. "He can look after himself."

"So what the hell are you interfering for?"

"Miranda, the problem's not him. The problem's you."

"Oh, _fuck_ you." I opened the car door with a shove, slammed it behind me.

His door made a quieter sound over my heels on the pavement. "Miranda!" I didn't stop, didn't even slow until running footsteps caught up and a hand gripped my elbow. "Miranda."

I stopped, shook his hand off. "What it is, Viggo? Are you jealous? Want me to fuck you instead? Want _him_ to fuck you instead?"

He took a step back. "Listen to yourself."

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who's decided his best friend suddenly needs baby-sitting, needs some sort of knight in shining armour to protect him from the horrible wiles of terrible women out to steal his soul."

He was just looking at me, that steady gaze. "I don't know what your story is, Miranda. I don't know what you left behind when you came here. But it's not as far away as you obviously like to think it is. You're just going to go in there with all your baggage and fuck him over on his last night in the country? Are you going to do that to him?" He stepped forward again, hand back on my elbow where it had gripped before, firm and sure. "Are you going to do that to yourself? You're damaged goods, Miranda, but it doesn't have to be like that."

I closed my eyes. Damaged goods. Gee, where had I heard that before? Bright-eyed, this is for the best Paul. Why didn't you ever...?

My eyes snapped open. He was still watching me. "It's none of your business," I managed. I backed up. He let me go; there was a wall behind me, bricks harsh against my back.

"You're right," he said, voice curt and clipped now. "It's not. I'm just your fucking friend, that's all."

He turned and walked away. I trailed after him for the few paces left to the pub.

The place was monumentally rowdy. The entire back, raised section was taken up with film people. We edged through the crowd, climbed the few stairs.

Sean was in the middle of the press, and loving it. Orlando was beside him, laughing loudly; he spotted us, and pointed us out so Sean could turn, beam at us both. "Viggo! Miranda, love!" A bear hug for Viggo, wide-open arms turned towards me.

I smiled brightly, and stepped forward to hug him. His hands were very warm on the bare skin of my back. "Wow," he said appreciatively, peering down over my shoulder, and I laughed lightly as I pulled back. "Nice top."

Orlando slid between us, handed me a full glass. "You need a drink!" he declared.

"What is it?" I asked. The drink was some sort of cocktail, half-full of ice and bright blue. At the edge of my vision, Sean was talking quietly with Viggo, their heads close together.

Orlando shrugged, grinned broadly. "Who knows? Suck it and see." With a wicked smirk, he pushed off into the crowd.

I took a sip - wow - and when I lowered the glass, Sean was at my elbow, Viggo gone. "What is it?" he asked, gesturing with his glass (full of nice, safe beer) towards my own.

"Alcoholic," I told him, and smiled. "I think Orlando's trying to get me drunk."

"Aren't we all?" he replied with a grin.

Before I could think of anything to say, the elf was back, Dave and Hugo in tow, and they dragged Sean away with a lot of shouting. Hugo winked over his shoulder at me, and I watched them go. They had a chess board set up at one of the tables, and a space cleared around it. The concept seemed to be Sean versus everyone else.

I sipped at the blue drink. Kelly appeared beside me, in a skirt Dom would have approved of. "Having fun?" she asked above the ruckus.

"Absolutely," I replied, and she continued on, slipping between people.

I looked back to the chess game. There was a spirited argument going on about the next move. Sean looked up and caught my eye; he raised his glass to me, and I returned the toast, took a sip, and looked away.

Liv was laughing with two of the wardrobe girls. One of them was pursuing Billy - it was common on-set gossip - but she didn't seem to making much of an effort tonight. Seemed content just to listen to her friend talk about (I guessed from the gestures) Wonderbras.

Looking the other way, I caught my reflection in the mirror along the pub wall. I thought maybe I'd overdone it a little on the eye make-up.

I set the blue drink down on the nearest table. Edging through the crowd - smiling, apologising - I made it to the chess game. Everyone else seemed to be losing, but then again, there seemed to be an argument over whether one of the pieces was called "the knight" or "the horsie bit".

At my hand on his shoulder, Sean looked up. He started to stand, but I pushed him back down, bent over so he could hear me. "Sorry, but I'm going to go."

"You've only been here half an hour," he protested, looking up at me.

"Sorry," I repeated. "I've got a headache." I smiled at him. "It's been great not quite working with you."

"Yeah," he agreed.

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, then laughed and wiped the lipstick mark off with my thumb.

I apologised my way out through the crowd again. It was easier going once I descended into the main part of the pub, and I pushed through quicker.

Just outside, I stopped, leant against the wall to catch my breath. My eyes slid closed.

A voice asked: "Do you need a lift home?"

I opened my eyes and looked at Viggo. He looked sad. He looked a little tired.

"You look a million bucks," he said quietly, tenor of his voice not changing. "He wouldn't have stood a chance."

I slapped him then, giving it everything sword-training-enhanced muscles could provide. There was some sort of satisfaction in the way he recoiled, staggering back two steps, hand to his cheek.

My palm tingled, close to pain. "I'll take a taxi."


	7. Say Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes a few steps in a direction. Maybe even the right one.

Say something;  
Make it a direct hit.  
Make me never forget this.  
\- Something For Kate

*

Sean flew out late Sunday morning, delayed by fog. We set up camp in the departure lounge. The hobbits ran around like children - there were some of them there as well, belonging to other people on the same flight. Elijah bonded with five-year-olds. Dom and Orlando took up two of the divider pylons cordoning off areas of the lounge and fenced with them, until security took an interest.

The men sat around, having those vague conversations that happen in circumstances like these. All in a relaxed, quietly-spoken, jean-clad sprawl - Karl, Dave, Sean, Viggo, Hugo, Ian. I loitered on the fringes, but I didn't really have a place in this strange ritual. I drifted over to the windows, and watched the fog slowly lift.

Liv arrived late, rushing into the lounge with her car keys still in her hand and her sunglasses pushed back on her head. "Oh, thank God you're still here," she declared. I turned to watch, leaning against the glass as she leaned over the back of the line of chairs to smack a kiss on Sean's cheek. "I have an announcement to make!"

Orlando, standing innocently with hands in pockets as far away as possible from the fencing pylons, said: "You're pregnant! Sean, you bastard, you can't leave her like this."

"Shut up," Liv shot back, laughing. "No. The announcement is that, well..." She paused, and giggled. Everyone gathered closer, sensing something truly momentous. "Roy flew in yesterday, a surprise." And now I had an inkling, could see it in the way she was practically glowing, even more so than usual. "He proposed!" she burst out. "We're going to get married!"

The departure lounge erupted. Complete strangers smiled as the entire cast exploded into raucous congratulations. All four hobbits tried to hug Liv at once. She was laughing; everyone was grinning.

I hung back, waited with a smile on my face until she could work her way through the crowd, to a place where I could step forward and give her my own hug, my own congratulations. She laughed, breathless with delight, and joined me leaning against the windows.

"So where is he?" I asked. "When do we get to meet him?"

"Sometime soon," she promised. "He's still asleep. I barely remembered this farewell; how embarrassing!"

I waved a dismissive hand. "Tell me all."

She shrugged, blushing faintly. "I talked to Roy Friday night," she told me. "I called him. We talked for, like, two hours, and I barely even noticed."

"You missed him?" I asked, watching her from the corner of my eye.

She looked wistful. "I did. Like, everything else, the being single, the time for me, the freedom, it was great. But I wanted to do it and still be able to talk to him. To have him around. Just..." She laughed. "Something was missing from my life, y'know? I didn't want to hang up that night. I wanted to talk to him forever." She looked vaguely like she hadn't been getting much sleep recently. There were shadows under her eyes. But she glowed in a way that just shone through. "And then he just got on a plane and flew out here. I could barely believe it."

I turned to her, smiling brightly. "That's fantastic."

She smiled back, honest and sunny. "Yeah."

When they finally announced Sean's flight, I gave him a big hug, a broad smile, a peck on the cheek. There were plenty of other people lining up to say goodbye. I was out of the building before the plane started to taxi down the runway.

I didn't sleep so well that weekend, either. I was restless, and the sheets got all tangled up around my legs. I got up for glasses of water I didn't really need, and just stood in the kitchen at the sink, one hand on the tap. Eric cast weird shadows, and moonlight made him look washed out.

The message from my father was still on my machine. I found it when I started fiddling with the machine at two in the morning. His voice seemed very loud at that hour, but when I deleted it, the silence was just as bad.

I showed up on time to make-up on Monday morning, but the girls tsked over the bags under my eyes.

"It's Sean's going," one said to the other with a wink over my head.

I smiled weakly.

The other girl - more practical and less prone to gossip - just shrugged. "It's Monday. Everyone looks like shit on Monday. The hobbits were hungover, as always," she told me. "And Viggo had faint bruising up his cheek, and round his eye."

"It was like the surfboard incident all over again."

"Give over, it was nowhere near that bad."

My smile was even weaker this time, but neither of them seemed to notice.

They'd done a good job of hiding any lingering mark I'd left on Viggo's face; when I showed up on the set, he looked purely Aragorn. The others were standing in small groups, chatting, but he stood a little apart, examining the grip of his sword. In character. In the zone.

"All right, let's get this show on the road," Pete called, clapping his hands. "Take your places. Except Legolas, let's try something different here..."

We moved into position, settling in as Pete set up the last-minute details the way he wanted them. As I crossed in front of Viggo, I murmered: "Good morning."

He nodded in return, face stern, and took up Aragorn's nonchalant alertness at his mark.

I told myself to stop feeling guilty. The slap couldn't have really hurt that much, and it's not as if he hadn't deserved it. Sticking his nose in. Ruining everything.

I poured righteous anger into my performance, remembered what it was like to be young and full of certainty. Driven by a blistering conviction that the world simply didn't understand you.

But I wasn't nineteen any more. I couldn't maintain that sort of thing, and I'd long ago realised that it was more than a little laughable in the first place.

"OK, that was nice, people. Let's do it again from the top. Ken, can I have that light further in?"

Back to where I began; replay. I looked up at Viggo. He wasn't looking at me - wasn't supposed to be - and I looked away again. Being Eowyn, being me... You learned as an actress that everyone really springs from a similar base of emotion, and certain experiences are more common than you might think.

It's humbling to realise that maybe the world does understand you all too well.

"Excellent. Now, again, with the camera from this angle."

When I looked up at him this time, he was looking back at me, just from the corner of his eye. I looked away, and heard repeated in my mind: "you're damaged goods."

When Paul had said that to me, we'd both been screaming, but I remembered it calmly. We'd been hurling abuse back and forth and it had just been one more brick in the wall we were building between us. It hadn't bothered me then. Hadn't bothered me at all.

"Miranda, concentrate."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be Eowyn."

I'd lost the anger; I was full of uncertainty. But that was Eowyn too. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan was as confused as anyone else. She was lost and alone and out of her depth.

And she dealt with it by grabbing the first man to catch her eye.

I looked at Viggo, and away again.

I wasn't a blushing young maiden any more. I shouldn't really need to be saved. But I guess stupidity isn't entirely confined to teenagers.

"Cut; OK, take fifteen, people, but don't wander off."

I turned away, swore under my breath. There were the usual loiterers with the waiting crew, Elijah and Sean Astin chatting animatedly. Elijah had his mobile phone in hand, seemed to be checking something. It only took a few steps to reach them.

"Can I borrow your phone?"

He looked up, blinking. "Uh, sure Mir." He hit a button a few times, and handed it over.

I typed the number in with my thumb. A glance over my shoulder showed Viggo was still watching me, not even pretending not to. I curled my free arm across my torso, hunched my shoulders as I turned away from Elijah slightly. Held the phone up to my ear. I knew the number off by heart still. I'd called it often enough from America. I'd got the machine more often than not, then. I got it now.

"Hey, this is Paul, leave a message."

He'd changed the message. Of course. I didn't even nominally live there any more, there was no reason he should still have the part about me, with my laughter in the background.

I realised I'd missed the beep.

"Ah, hi. It's me. Miranda." I had no idea what to say. I should have thought about this. "Dad said you had, uh, y'know, mail for me or something. Maybe we should..." We should what? I didn't know. I wanted him to pick up. I wanted this call never to have started. "Uh, look, I have to go." I gave him my number, almost as an afterthought, and hung up quickly.

I took the phone away from my ear, and turned it over in my hand. It had a black, shiny back, with Ewan McGregor as the young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Just in case I'd ever doubted it was Elijah's.

"You done?"

I looked back to Elijah, and smiled. "Yeah, thanks."

He took the phone back with a brilliant grin. "No problem."

Behind me, Pete clapped his hands. "OK, people. What we're going to do now is..."

I turned back to the action. Viggo was still watching me, kept watching until I stopped beside him.

"Don't fucking say anything," I told him.

"Didn't say a word," he replied. But he smiled at me. I smiled back.

"Hey, Miranda."

I turned back to face Elijah. "Yeah?"

I didn't trust his grin. "Where do you live again?"

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. Viggo shifted beside me; if I turned my head slightly I could see him looking away, to the activities of the crew. I wondered if I should say something. Perhaps apologise.

Elijah shrugged, all angelic innocence that didn't fool me for a minute. "Astin and I were trying to figure out the geographical spread of the cast."

I didn't trust him at all; I told him my address, grudgingly, and repeated: "Why?"

"I told you!" He had a very convincing act. I knew he was a talented actor. He turned to Sean. "I think that's further west than Karl's place."

"But does he count?" Sean countered, also very convincingly.

I shook my head, and turned back to Viggo. "Look, I just wanted -"

No chance. Pete called us all back to order. Back into it. "We'll talk later," Viggo promised me, as he walked away.

I supposed we would.


	8. Break Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes for a walk with Viggo, avoiding her own party.

But today is the day  
we break free.  
\- Poe

*

Given Elijah's general larrikinism, it shouldn't have surprised me at all when all four hobbits, and Orlando, showed up on my doorstep that Friday night. Billy had a case of beer, Orlando had a pile of fragrant pizza boxes, and they all had broad, butter-wouldn't-melt grins.

"What is this?" I asked, when I opened the door to find them standing there.

"Party invasion," Sean said simply.

Elijah added: "Resistance is futile, prepare to be assimilated."

I had a paperback novel in my hand; I'd been planning to finish it, and maybe have an early night. I laughed, and stepped back against the wall. "Kitchen's at the end of the hall." They trouped past, a procession of happy hobbit. I closed the door behind them, and followed Billy down the corridor, to where there were noises and voices coming out of my kitchen.

"Whoops-i-daisy." That was Orlando.

And then Dom: "Watch the plant, tosser."

"I'm watching the plant."

"Be nice to Eric!" I called out, as I entered. Orlando was at the sink, one hand on the pizza boxes, one on Eric's terracotta pot.

"Your plant has a _name_?" Sean sounded incredulous.

But Elijah was enthusiastic. "That's so cool! Do you, like, play music to it - sorry, him - and talk to him and stuff?"

It seemed almost a shame to disappoint him. "Um, no."

Dom cuffed Elijah lightly on the back of the head. "Doofus."

The doorbell rang again. The hobbits managed to look a combination of sheepish and cheeky. I raised my eyebrows. "How many other random arrivals are there going to be?"

"Well," Billy said, in a reasonable tone of voice, "we might have mentioned this little venture to a few people. Just here and there, you understand."

"Of course," I replied wryly, and headed back down the corridor.

Hugo and Dave were standing on my front verandah. "We couldn't leave you to their tender mercies," Dave told me, sliding past with a smile and a sixpack of Tooheys.

Hugo paused in the doorway to lay a hand on my shoulder. He frowned at me, which had always made me feel like a naughty child in the principal's office. "Are you OK, Miranda?"

I blinked. "Fine."

He nodded. "OK. You've just seemed a little distracted recently." He patted me on the shoulder, and continued on down the hall. I stared out the front door into the gathering dusk for a moment, before closing the door and heading to the kitchen.

I managed to persuade the party out of the kitchen and into the living room, which fortunately was clean enough to entertain. Good enough for this rowdy bunch, at least.

I got squished in on the couch between Billy and Dom, and when the phone rang, it had to be passed in to me, because there was no way I was getting out. "Hello?" I answered.

"Miranda?"

"Oh hi, Liv."

No chance for anything further. "Is that Liv?" Elijah perked up. "We couldn't find her. Tell her to come!"

Dom always suited the action to the word; he grabbed the phone from my hand. "Liv baby! The party's on at Mir's place. Get yer arse down here." A pause, and then: "His arse too."

The phone was passed back in time for me to catch Liv's laughter, and her promise to be there soon.

No sooner had the phone been manhandled back to its place on the corner table than the doorbell rang. Still no way I was getting out, so I just raised my voice and called: "Come in if you're not a hobbit!"

"Hey!"

The door opened, and after footsteps in the hall, Karl's head popped around the doorframe. "Just us." Viggo appeared behind him.

I smiled. Dom flicked his beer-bottle lid at Billy over my head, and I leaned forward to give them more room to tussle behind my back. "Hey guys," I said to the newly-arrived men. "There's beer and god-knows-what in the kitchen. I had nothing to do with any of this."

"I believe you," Karl told me, and laughed. They disappeared into the kitchen.

Hugo wanted to know how to work my stereo, and I used the opportunity to escape from the couch situation. He was kneeling in front of it; I sat next to him on the floor, legs crossed, and pointed out what he was doing wrong. Including in his music choice.

"I mightn't have a lot of say over this event," I told him, laughing as I tried to wrestle the Best of John Farnham away from him, "but I can damn well dictate the music if I want."

He relinquished that one, but didn't give in so easily elsewhere. We were still arguing - yes to Poe, no to the big-hair metal compilation I only kept for the memories - when the doorbell rang again.

I could, so I went to answer the door this time. It was Liv and a grinning fellow who she immediately introduced as Royston. "So you've been invaded?" she asked with a smile. I tilted my head towards the noise coming from my living room, and she laughed. "They do this on a regular basis. Be glad this is only small-scale. They ordered a stripper when they crashed my place last."

Dom came out of the living room, empty beer bottle in hand. "I knew we forgot something! Mind if I use your phone, Mir?" He grinned, and continued on his way to the kitchen.

When we went into the living room, Viggo and Karl had stolen the spare seats on the couch, and were involved in animated discussion with Billy. I leant against the wall next to Dave, and got drawn into a discussion on codes of football with him and Sean, which Hugo then joined with great violence of opinion.

It was a good party, I'll give the boys that. It had rhythm, and the bright promise that only comes with spontaneity. Or maybe that was just the point from where I was standing, having planned nothing, merely benefited. Maybe the hobbits themselves were terrified things might go wrong. Though it wasn't their rug that got the beer spilled on it. A small price to pay, anyway. I doubted the hobbits were concerned about anything. Certain things just seemed to come naturally to them, and parties were certainly one of them.

Orlando was just closing the fridge, new beer in hand, when I came into the kitchen. I tossed my third empty bottle into the case beside the fridge, and decided on a glass of water before anything else. "Great party you guys are running here," I said, as I passed him to get to the sink.

"Hey, I'm just a minion," he said with a laugh, and disappeared back out the door.

I finished my glass of water, poured another, and tipped half of it into Eric's pot. The stock of beer in the fridge was diminishing. All sorts of more sensible matter had been squished to the side to make room for it all, but we all have to make sacrifices.

I headed back out to the party, and finally ran into Viggo in the short patch of corridor between the living room and the kitchen. He had an empty glass in his hand; he and Karl were sharing a bottle of Wild Turkey, I remembered. I stepped against one wall to let him past, but he just leaned against the other and grinned. "Nice party."

I laughed, and relaxed against the wall. "Yeah, I really know how to organise, don't I?" I shook my head. "Bloody Elijah. I should have known he was up to something."

Viggo tapped his thumbnail against his glass, smiling down at it, up at me. "It wasn't him. The idea was Billy's, he just got Elijah to help him out."

I raised my eyebrows. "Billy?"

"Yeah. He's deceptive like that. He thought you needed cheering up."

Orlando came thundering back out of the living room, dancing between me and Viggo as we pressed back against the walls to let him through. "Oops, sorry!"

"Drunkard!" Viggo shot after him.

I grinned. "Well, it's worked. I feel much more cheerful."

"That's good," Viggo said, and we leaned away again to let Orlando back out of the kitchen. He disappeared back into the living room.

I turned from his departure back to Viggo. "I'm glad you came tonight."

He nodded. "Me too."

"Whoops!" This time it was Dom, with Elijah on his back, peering over his shoulder with blue eyes and a grin. "'Scuse us, coming through."

Viggo grunted, and reached out to grab my wrist as soon as the piggy-back went past. "Come on," he said, and tugged me down the hallway, away from the kitchen.

We passed the living room, me following unresisting. He left his glass on the table just inside the front door. "Where are we going?" I asked, as he opened the front door with his free hand.

"Somewhere else," he said succinctly, leading me out onto the verandah.

He grinned at me, and I grinned back. "But what about the party?"

"Was it your party?"

"Well, not really."

"Exactly." He pulled the door shut after us, and the noise lessened, muted through door and window glass.

Viggo let me go once we reached the street; I seemed to be committed now to this truancy from my own cheering-up. The night was still, and not too cold. We wandered side-by-side down the footpath, past the line of cars - Elijah's unbelievably blue Falcon, Orlando's black jeep, generic sedans that I assumed belonged to Viggo and whoever was driving out of Dave and Hugo.

There was a street light on the corner making a pool of light. We lingered it in, waiting for a car to pass before we crossed the road. The beer was making my hand cold; I took a swig. "What was I saying? Before you dragged me out of my own house?"

"I didn't drag you. You didn't protest much."

"I didn't," I agreed.

"You said you were glad I came. I'm glad I came."

"We're just an orgy of mutual congratulation," I commented. We crossed another street, carless this time. "Where are we going, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Anywhere." He grinned, and clarified. "Anywhere we can talk without hobbit interruptions."

I gestured with the beer bottle. "There's a park up there, I think."

There was a park. It had a few bits of play equipment, and a prominent no-alcohol sign. I lingered on the edge, and raised my two-thirds-full bottle. "I can't come in."

"Finish it," Viggo chivvied me.

I raised my eyebrows and held out the bottle. "You finish it. I'm a delicate female."

He snorted, but took the bottle, raised it for a swig. "You're not delicate."

I accepted the bottle back. "You've changed your tune. Seemed to think I was going to break last weekend." I took a long pull of beer.

Viggo grimaced, looked away across the darkened park, and down at his feet. "I'm sorry about that, Miranda. I was out of line."

With the lack of light, I could see him better out of the corner of my eye. I shrugged, and said as casually as I could manage: "Yeah, well. Maybe you were right." I held out the bottle towards him, almost finished now. "Sorry I slapped you."

He looked up at my face, intent, and I wondered how much he could see in the dark. He smiled slightly, and took the bottle from me. "I've had much worse wounds from this movie."

He finished the beer, and dropped the bottle into a nearby bin with a clink of glass on glass. Safe now, we entered the park. There was a little merry-go-round, and Viggo stepped on, started to spin it. I resisted his entreaties, and took a seat on one of the swings. "I could never stand those things as a child."

"Can't handle your dizziness," Viggo commented sagely, rotating slowly.

"Huh?"

"Dizziness is an upper for kids. It's what you have before you discover hard drugs."

I laughed out loud. "Yeah, OK. Well, I was the equivalent of a two-pot screamer."

"Two-twirl hurler," he suggested.

"It's a good thing they have sand around these things, that's all I'm saying."

Viggo left the merry-go-round still spinning gently, and took the swing beside me. I curled my hands around the chains, and folded my legs underneath the seat. There wasn't really room for an adult on these things. They were made for smaller bodies.

"His name was Paul," I said suddenly, and turned to look at Viggo, swinging slightly beside me. "The guy who isn't left as far behind as I thought he was."

"You don't have to -"

"I want to." We sat in silence for a moment, side by side, with the slight creaks of the swings under our too-adult weight. "We had a relationship for quite a long time. Even shared a flat for months. But we were never really together. Paul was never very clingy. Maybe that's part of what I liked about him in the first place. He broke it off, between me coming back from the States and coming down here. I told him he never really wanted to care for me anyway. He told me I never really wanted to be cared for." I looked down, traced a line in the sand with the toe of my shoe. "He had a point."

Viggo shifted beside me. "We all end up in relationships sometimes just because we don't want to be single," he reasoned.

I shook my head. "I never even thought about that. Liv, y'know, she was having this period of singleness because she wanted it, but... not one of my decisions was ever made with any sort of what-do-I-want process. I've just been doing things, and then having to deal with everything afterwards." I looked at him again, a difficult task on swings designed to never face each other. "I would have kept on doing it, if you hadn't stopped me."

He was looking away into the distance. "I didn't know anything, I was just going off half-cocked."

"Whatever works. Maybe I do need something to help me put Paul behind me, to reassure myself that I am still desirable and all the rest of the shit that rebound pick-ups are supposed to remedy. But I hadn't thought about it, and I would have taken a lot of baggage into bed with Sean." It suddenly struck me that this was a slightly bizarre conversation to be having in the middle of the night, in a playground, and I started to laugh quietly. "You were a good friend. To him and to me."

Viggo looked at me quizzically as I chuckled. I just shook my head, and he smiled. "We really are an orgy of mutual congratulation."

I grinned. "Shit, we're good."

He nodded. "We are.


	9. Hardcore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes all the way.

This is hardcore;  
This is me on top of you.  
And I can't believe it took me this long.  
\- Pulp

*

When we got back to my house, the lights were on, but no one was home. The stereo was still playing quietly, and I switched it off before following Viggo into the kitchen.

"Dear Mir," I read off the note Orlando had left under Eric's pot, "you are out of beer. This is shameful. We have gone to find more. If I die in my quest, you can have my wig. Love, Orli."

Viggo laughed, coming to stand beside me at the sink to run himself a glass of water. The pipes hammered. "What were you worried about?"

I put the note back under the pot. "I feel like a bad host."

"Because you couldn't provide enough beer for five young men?"

I laughed. "Because I went for a walk and left them here."

"Because you did what you wanted to."

"Don't get fucking sage with me," I told him, but we were both laughing now.

We went back out onto my verandah, because the evening was simply too perfect for sitting inside. The steps we sat on were narrow, but hip-to-thigh together felt right. He put his arm loosely around my shoulder, and that felt right too. The night noised quietly around us.

He was saying something, but I wasn't really listening, and when I turned to look at him, I knew what I was going to do.

A hand on his knee to balance me, and he didn't move as I leaned forwards. I'd always closed my eyes before, around this point, but I kept them open now, was still looking in his eyes when my mouth touched his.

His lips parted immediately, drew my own in their wake. I watched his eyelids flutter closed as his hand on my shoulder drew up into the curve of my throat, warm around the nape of my neck. His tongue met mine halfway, curled and laved. I smoothed my hand against his thigh, braced my other hand on the worn wood between us.

I drew back for breath, and he opened his eyes again. "Is this a bad idea?" I whispered.

"I don't know, is it?" He spoke in his normal voice, but that had always been low and intimate. His hand was still curled around my neck, his thumb stroking just under my ear. My hand was still on his leg, too high to be called his knee. Denim was smooth under the pads of my fingers.

"I'm -" I murmered, trying not to lean forward, into his mouth again. "I'm drunk. I'm still on the rebound, whatever I say. And we're friends. I don't want -"

Viggo didn't cut me off. He didn't need to, I stopped myself. He looked into my eyes and simply asked: "What _do_ you want?"

What did I want? I wanted to start taking an active role in my life, in the parts that didn't include what movie I was going to make next. I wanted to be someone who knew what she wanted, whether or not she actually ended up getting it. And right now, what I wanted... With his voice against my lips it was impossible to lie. "I want to kiss you until I forget how to breathe."

He lifted his head a little, and our lips brushed. I might have whimpered. His other hand was on my waist, easing down to my hip. "Then how could this be a bad idea?"

I'd forgotten. I let myself sink back into his kiss, let my eyelids slide closed. His mouth was hot and slick and he tasted faintly of bourbon. I'd never liked it much, but second-hand, chased off his tongue and sampled with his saliva, it was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

I edged closer on the step, but there was no closer to get. I broke the kiss to change position; tossed my hair aside and knelt on the step, threw a leg across him to straddle his lap. His hands slid against me, smoothing into new positions on my shoulder and lower back, holding me close against him. His mouth was against my collarbone - lips and teeth and tongue - until I gasped and insisted: his mouth back on mine, hard and demanding. My hand fisted in his hair; his fisted in mine. We kissed hard and fast, his grip tugging against my scalp. He gave me what I wanted. We kissed until I couldn't remember anything outside of this; the soft scratch of his stubbled beard, his wandering touch, the feel of his shoulders under my hands. But mostly, his mouth and mine, the many ways we could fit together, the taste of him on my tongue.

I had to stop, not for breath, but because the world was spinning. Never could handle my dizziness. I gripped his shoulders. Viggo's hands were on my thighs, high, near my hips. I was breathless. "This is -"

He was the same, but for all that, he interrupted me. "Don't say a bad idea," he growled.

I laughed, kissed him again because it was impossible not to. "- not the most comfortable place for this," I finished.

Viggo framed my face with his hands, pushing his fingers into my hair. His gaze was direct as it met mine; it made me shiver slightly. "What do _you_ want?" I asked, which was an absurd question to ask pressed so tight against him that I knew what his body wanted, what mine wanted. But I asked.

And he answered. "I want to help you. I want to show you that you are desirable. I want to help you move on to whatever you want next." His hands stroked down my back.

"Mmm," I hummed, pressing up against him, breathless in his ear. "That sounds nice." Grossly inadequate word. All I could manage.

I tilted my head up; he kissed me, slow and thorough, and by the time he'd finished, I'd almost forgotten the thread of conversation. "I'm not going to pick you up and carry you in, though," he murmured against my throat.

We laughed together, and I eased myself back, off his lap. "We're both too old for that sort of shit."

We went back inside, and he curled his arms around me from behind as I turned off the outside lights. I lay a hand on the plastic switch. "Viggo, why are you doing this?"

Someone else might have bluffed, fudged the answer, been cute, but I knew that wasn't his way. He leaned against me, and I could feel his grin curve against my neck. "Well, a gorgeous, intriguing, brilliant woman I admire and respect wants to sleep with me. Who am I to say no?"

I laughed, and relaxed back against him. He continued, breath warm against my neck: "Besides, I feel like I owe you one."

I raised my eyebrows, almost choked on a laugh. "You owe me one?" He was laughing as well, chest against my back and arms around me. I shrugged against him. "So you're going to do it like Bean would?"

"Hmm," he hummed in my ear, hands smoothing down over my hips. "I have no idea how Sean would behave." He reached past me, lifted the telephone. "We could call and ask."

I batted the receiver from his hand, turned in his arms, laughing. The phone clattered on the table, but I ignored it as Viggo pushed me back against the wall, weight on me, knee pressing between my thighs. My breathless laughter mingled with his, and he kissed me, deep and lazy and demanding.

I gasped as his mouth slid down my neck. "Bedroom. That way." I pointed one flailing arm.

For the second time that night, he led and I followed. We went together down the hall, pausing for me to turn off the kitchen light. I didn't close the door to my bedroom, because this was my house; who was going to walk in on us stripping each other, with slow fumblings and hot, distracting kisses? It was just me in this place, sliding into bed to meet Viggo's arms, his hands, his mouth, his desire with my own.

It seemed a little odd. It seemed weirdly premeditated, eerily planned, bizarrely controlled. It wasn't happening _to_ me. It was happening.

Viggo adored the curve of my torso from hip to ribcage, told me so as he ran his hands over me. He kissed me with passion and caring and gentleness and vigour and humour and I loved the feeling of him under my hands, hair and skin rough and smooth and the muscles of training. I never expected him to read my mind and be perfect. He didn't even try. He brushed my hair out of my face, smoothed his fingers along my eyebrows, and asked: "What do you want, Miranda?"

"You," I told him, tasting his sweat. "Over me. Inside me."

His grin was brilliant, and I matched it.

In the end, the earth didn't move. But it made a spirited attempt.


	10. Waking Up Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda goes where she wants.

I woke up to that day...  
I miss, God I miss,  
waking up beside you.  
\- Stabbing Westward

*

I woke up for the simple reason that I was used to sleeping alone, taking up all the space, so I rolled over and ran into him.

I jerked awake perplexed and vague, blinking at the male back obstructing my view. In the light through the venetian blinds Viggo looked even more warmly brown than New Zealand sun had made him. There were faint bruises from filming colouring his back. He always threw himself into it. Reckless disregard for personal safety. Threw himself into everything. He was so brave, living his life. I didn't think he'd see it that way, but it wasn't important that he did.

I smiled, and levered myself up onto one elbow to peer over him. He was still asleep, hair over his face stirring on his breathing. I slid out of bed as surreptitiously as I could, still naked. My nightgown was underneath the pillow; I tugged it out and put it on. My robe had been tossed over the end of the bed, but it was on the floor now. I put it on as I left the room, closing the door quietly behind me with one arm in the sleeve.

Water was just what I needed. I drank a glass standing at the sink, and refilled it to water Eric. He was looking a little wilted, I noticed. A little yellow. It wasn't really the sunniest spot, there on the windowsill. Maybe I should move him.

First things first, though; I put the coffee on, and went to assess the damage in the living room.

It wasn't too bad, really. The extended Fellowship weren't wholly inconsiderate. There were the usual beer bottles, most empty, none spilled save the early casualty of the rug - I took it outside to hang over the verandah railing - and a few plates with crumbs and crusts of pizza. Behind the armchair under the window I found one of Elijah's shoes. But only one; I didn't turn up the other one anywhere. I took it back into the kitchen with me and left it on the bench while I disposed of the rubbish.

I was pouring the coffee - heavenly aroma; it's half the enjoyment - when I heard the bedroom door open, and footsteps paired with the sound of a body stretching out the kinks.

"Yes please," Viggo said behind me.

I looked over my shoulder; he was standing in the doorway, wearing only his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, and blinked slowly. "Sugar and milk?" I asked.

"Neither." He scratched at a rib as I poured another cup. "Why is there a shoe?"

"Lij left me a gift." I passed him a steaming mug, and he stepped into the room to take it. "I want to know how he managed to get home with only one shoe on."

Viggo laughed, and sipped at his coffee. I picked up my own - with milk and sugar - and took a mouthful, leaning back against the counter.

"How are you, Miranda?"

I looked up and met his gaze, direct and interested but not necessarily concerned. I smiled at him, over my coffee. "I'm fine. I'm great."

He smiled back. "Great," he echoed.

We lingered over coffee, standing in my kitchen as morning sun filted past Eric in the window. I offered breakfast - eggs, bacon, pancakes - but we weren't up to much, either of us. We had toast, and bickered over the jam pot, butter-knife fencing with little conviction.

Viggo helped me clean up a little more, and he took Elijah's shoe with him when he left. "I have an idea," he said, with a mischievous smile that made me laugh. He kissed me on the cheek as I was still grinning, a chaste peck and a friendly hand on my arm.

"Thank you," I told him, and he grinned and took the stairs down from my verandah two at a time. I watched from the doorway as he got into his car, tossing the shoe onto the passenger seat. He waved before he drove off, and I waved back, then closed the door behind me as I went inside.

I noticed the phone handset was on the floor, stretching its spiralled cord. I picked it up with a laugh; it must have been like that all night, since I knocked it out of Viggo's hand when he suggested calling Bean. I replaced the handset on the phone, but the cord was hopelessly pulled out of natural shape. His empty glass was still on the table, and I took it back to the kitchen.

After a shower, I felt human again, or at least close enough to make a good impersonation. I got dressed and let my damp hair fall down my back. It could dry naturally for a change; it'd be good for it. I bundled up the bedsheets to be washed, but didn't remake the bed just yet. I wasn't suddenly transformed into a paragon of domestic virtue, and it could wait until later.

I stood at my back door, drinking a second cup of coffee. The back garden at this place was really quite nice. Nothing fancy, just a couple of spreading trees and some sunny garden beds. Nothing fancy, but beautiful nonetheless.

I took a sip of my coffee, and looked back into the kitchen, where Eric sat on the windowsill. Maybe I could plant him out in the garden. There was a nice sunny spot along the back fence where there was an empty patch in the shrubbery. Made for him.

The coffee was finished by now, and I took the empty mug to the sink to rinse it. I rubbed one of Eric's leaves with wet fingers. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea of planting him out. Sure, the garden wasn't mine, but it was gorgeous, a wonderful place for him, where he could thrive. Even after I was gone.

I carried him outside in his pot balanced on one hip. I thought I remembered seeing a little gardening trowel thing on the hose reel around the side of the house; sure enough, it was still there, old but still perfectly fine. I set Eric down near the garden bed, settled myself on my knees in the grass, and started to dig.

Like I said way back at the start, I don't really have a green thumb. Plants are not my thing. But I'd watched enough fragments of Gardening Australia to have a vague idea of what to do. I dug what looked like a suitable sort of hole with the trowel. I carefully eased Eric out of his pot. Dirt went everywhere, crumbling and scattering and filtering into the creases of my jeans where they were bunched at knee and crotch from my kneeling. I teased out the root system, all tangled and intertwined, like I thought I was perhaps supposed to do. The hole was a touch too deep, so I filled it in a little before placing him in the hole, and pushing the dirt back in around him. I patted it down, but not too much. After unwinding the hose, I gave him a good drenching, until he was looking a little bedraggled.

Had I forgotten something? I didn't know. I was no good at this. But I'd done all I could, and anyway, he was a survivor. Like me.

I left Eric's empty pot by the back door. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but for now, I was more interested in getting some of the dirt off me. I seemed to be covered with it. I was washing my hands in the kitchen sink - the view was strange now, I could see the vines on the fence next door without Eric to block the vista - when the phone rang. I hurriedly dried my hands on a towel, and ran to get it.

In the mirror above the phone table, I noticed I even had smudges of dirt on my face, run with sweat. Very Eowyn, warrior-maid, and I was laughing as I picked up the handset. "Hello, Miranda Otto."

"Oh, you _are_ there."

I blinked, and turned away from the mirror. "Paul. Hi."

"Yeah, hi." He hesitated, and I could see him in my mind, in the apartment that I used to share with him, or at least cohabit. He'd be staring out the window, free hand in back pocket. He liked the view. "I tried to call you last night, but first you weren't there and the phone was answered by some young Yank, and then it was engaged."

"Oh, sorry. There was a kind of impromptu party, and I went out for a walk, and then I must have knocked the phone off the hook. I noticed it this morning."

"Sounds like you're living the wild life."

I laughed, and leaned back against the wall. "Well, not really, it's pretty relaxed. A great experience."

"Really."

His voice sounded a little short. "Paul -"

"No, I'm sorry Miranda. You sound fantastic and..." He laughed. "It's hard on my ego, you know, but I'm over it already. It's great to hear you laugh like that. You hadn't done that in a long time."

"I hadn't?"

"No, you hadn't."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything to say, and wracked my memory, trying to think of laughter. But you don't remember just laughing at normal things, at everyday minor joys. You remember the big jokes, the hours spent laughing hard, but that's not natural laughter. I couldn't remember the everyday laughter, and maybe he was right. About a lot of things.

"Anyway, how's life? What have you been up to?"

I shook my head, dragged my attention back to the conversation. "The usual shit of filming. You know how that goes. Learning to get on with the crew and the cast. This and that. Doing a bit of sight-seeing. Oh, and I gardened today."

He was laughing now. "You did not."

"Did too. I planted out the potplant."

"You still have that?"

"Oh yeah."

"I kinda miss it around the place." His voice grew wistful.

I laughed. "You hated it."

"Well, yeah. But I still miss it. How is it?"

From where I was standing in the hallway, I could see out the back door, into the garden. But I turned around, instead, and looked at the mirror. Dirt smudge on my cheek, and another above my eyebrow. "Oh, it's flourishing."

The pause was a little awkward. Then he said: "That's great."

"It is. So, anyway, Dad said you had mail to send to me..."

I was more comfortable talking business with Paul, but there was the ease there, still. We knew each other well. Even if we'd never been truly together, we'd walked side-by-side for a long time.

So as we said our farewells, I added: "I'll give you a call when I'm in Brisbane next. We'll have coffee."

"Oh. Yeah. That'd be great."

We hung up, and I stared at the wall for a long minute, before turning to look in the mirror again.

And look, there was me, looking back.

What had I been expecting?

I turned to face the mirror entirely. Ugh, the dirt needed to go. But I'd barely turned away from the phone when it rang again.

It was Elijah this time. "Mir, hey, how's the clean-up? Did we leave too much mess?"

"You were very restrained. The whole event was fantastic, in fact. Thanks. Pass my gratitude on to Billy."

He laughed. "Someone told you."

I twined the phone cord smugly around my finger. "No, I'm just psychic."

"Yeah, right." He stretched his drawl, and we laughed together. "Anyway, uh... I don't suppose you turned up a red trainer while you were cleaning up, did you?"

I thought about circuses, and Viggo's smirk as he left that morning, and grinned. "Sorry, Lij. Didn't see it."

"Damn. Oh well. You coming to the pub tonight?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"See you there, then."

"See you."

*

There are some experiences you know, before you begin, are going to change your life.

They never do. Not really. Because it's not about changing your life. It's just about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hundred thousand thank yous to everyone who was with me every step of this journey. This has always been a weird story, and from the first moment I thought of the idea, I've been uncertain about whether it was worthwhile, and whether it could expect any sort of positive reaction. I have been not merely pleasantly surprised, but stunned, overwhelmed and filled with joy at the comments and feedback I've received. Thank you so much. Especially fervent thanks must go to jenny ([](http://starbuckle.livejournal.com/profile)[**starbuckle**](http://starbuckle.livejournal.com/)), whose regular comments were an ongoing source of rapture for me.


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